She doesn’t know how fucking beautiful that control is. Or how close it comes to unraveling mine.
The moment breaks when Knox strolls in, James a step behind.
“Meat’s ready,” James calls, slapping Knox on the back. “Let’s eat before East starts licking the trays.”
Candace doesn’t move. She stays perched on her stool, legs crossed, arms folded as if they’re armor. Even her old man heads toward the food, but she just stays there. Watching, waiting, keeping herself separate from all of it.
I catch the slightest shift in her jaw; tightening to hold something in. Her foot taps once against the bar rail. Restless. As though she’s holding herself back from bolting or belonging. Maybe both.
The overhead lights throw a soft sheen across her skin. Summer-warmed, sun-kissed, untouched in all the ways I shouldn’t be thinking about right now. I push off the doorframe and stroll over, planting myself beside her, elbows braced against the bar. Close, but not touching. Just enough to make her feel the heat off me.
She stiffens.
The smell of her hits me—vanilla, citrus, something clean and warm that doesn’t belong in a place this grim, but clings to her in quiet defiance. I inhale it as if it’s the only pure thing in the room.
Her breath shivers in her throat. Progress.
“I figured you’d be the first in line,” I murmur, letting my voice drop low. “Didn’t strike me as the type to pass up free food. Especially cinnamon rolls.”
She doesn’t look at me, just sips her drink as though she’s praying for divine intervention. “Maybe I lost my appetite.”
The clink of ice against the glass is sharp, brittle. Her fingers tremble just a hair, but I catch it. Because I’m watching. Always watching her.
I tilt my head, studying the sharp line of her jaw. “Nah. You’re just avoiding being cornered by people who actually care about you. Scary shit, I know.”
That gets her. Her eyes cut to mine, green and fire-bright. A storm bottled tight. “You think you know me, huh?”
“I’m starting to.” I grin. “You hide in plain sight. Flannel around your waist serving as armor. Shorts that should be illegal. That shirt you wore just to test my self-control.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Please. Your self-control has been questionable since day one.”
Her fucking mouth. That fire. If I wasn’t already in too deep, I’d be smart enough to walk away now.
“Fair. But I’ve been a perfect gentleman today.” I pause, then lean in, voice dropping to a near whisper. “For now.”
Her pulse flutters in her neck. I track it the way a predator marks its target. She tries to mask it with another sip, but her fingers tremble against the glass. It’s not just nerves. It’s the desire she doesn’t want to admit to.
Her breath catches, but she covers it with another sip of her drink, the clink of ice loud in the silence between us.
I want to press my lips there. Right beneath her jaw. Feel the thrum of that pulse against my mouth. Let her know what it means to be wanted in a way that burns. But I don’t move. Don’t touch her.
I watch her a second longer, then shift the tone, smooth and easy.
“Your father paid his dues.”
Her head snaps toward me, brows furrowed. She didn’t give him the money; this is the first she’s heard of this. I see every flicker of emotion that runs through her—confusion, suspicion, betrayal.
The blood drains from her face, but she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t lash out.
She goes still.
It’s the kind of stillness I recognize in people seconds before they break.
Her grip tightens on the glass until her knuckles pale. She masks it by shifting in her seat, but she’s bracing for a blow.
A sharp breath pulls in through her nose. Silent. Controlled. As if she’s trying not to shatter in front of me.
The moment between us stretches, heavy with what we’re not saying. I could reach out, push her hair back from her face, run my thumb over that stubborn jaw. Fuck, I want to. I want her. Not just physically—though yeah, that’s definitely part of it—but something else. I want to be the one she doesn’t flinch from. The one she trusts.
